Rhymer Poems - Poems about Rhymer

I'm not even a poet, just a petty rhymer. When starting a new verse, first thing I do is grab a timer. And if it takes more than five minutes flat, I say, "Okay, that's about enough of that!" And then I go back to reading my "How to enjoy your retirement" primer. Bonus poem Grab some cheese, some crackers, and...

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God’s Own Daughter! I am the best rhymer! Make me win, that is my order! How you do it, do I have to bother! Dated: 28/2/2019 Sponsor by: Bobby May Contest: I am a Winner Title of Poem: Why I should win 1st Place...

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In businessy emails I rhyme, A large percentage of the time. My weirdly waxing poetic, Thought by bureaucrats pathetic, When all is said, still be no crime....

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Reading through my lines You will find in there meaning, Words are not simply placed Just for the sake of rhyming. Rhyming is an art, Not everyone can be capable; But it's not the case for me- I am a man of different level. Not just a poet, You can call me a magician; With the magic of my talent, I can rhyme any given situation. You...

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The "Rhymers" guild; archaic faction, We garner all the more detraction Less, are we, in our attraction More, we are, the poetic infraction When free is verse, a form accursed- Murders Art, fetch forth a hearse For they coerced the Poems reverse, And left our lines inverse- perverse! *Title is a play off "It's Hard to be a Diamond in a Rhinestone World"...

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we have to laugh at our bloody self, cant dodge the rhyme, do i need help, but then it aint a crime, me worry not himself, this time:) (i even think in rhyme?) Don Joe Flach i think we get the intuition of the mind, an flows the lines some sweet n kind, from other buggers sure, poets beyond deaths door, to...

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There was a girl who spent too much shoppin’ The mean hubby said she best be stoppin’ So she started to mourn But Rogue Rhymer was born And now her checks are no longer hoppin’...

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Tyburn and Diamante, the smarty and the glow, are now here and they’re ready, perfectly ready, to be read by you my dear! The wintry weather have mantled their innocent forms all day, and by the window they’re leaning on my last hope, their hooray. I watch li’l Haiku, flowing, with orange flame in the evening wind, whilst...

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I will never be a poet for even I can clearly see, my words are plain (I know it) and a little singsongy. My head’s as filled with adjectives, As is my pen with ink, though I write with all I have to give most times my poems stink. I do not know the difference betwixt haiku and senyru, (lucky, writing’s not my...

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